


The Peanut Gallery

by loup_garou



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 00:06:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17477543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loup_garou/pseuds/loup_garou
Summary: Thinking before fighting is sometimes a good plan. Especially if you're fighting Batman.





	The Peanut Gallery

Oliver Queen had certainly made many unwise decisions in his life, and as he collided yet again with one of the brick walls, he was beginning to fear that this would be the last one. As he tried desperately to pick himself up and block the next blow from those massive fists, he wondered where he made his first mistake. Possibly that was coming to Gotham in the first place.

Everyone knew Gotham was weird; it has all kinds of really strange and probably insane criminals, and rumours of a shady group of vigilantes keeping them under limited control. But the drug smugglers Arrow had been chasing for a month turned out to operate out of Gotham, so to Gotham he had gone, intending to shut down the smuggling once and for all. It had gone well, initially; he had located their base of operations and was keeping a careful eye on it from a roof top when he had suddenly realised he wasn't alone anymore

That, in and of itself, was unnerving: he was Oliver Queen, he was the Arrow, he didn't get snuck up on. And the man standing behind him had no business sneaking - he was well over six feet and built like a brick wall - hooded, caped, and eerily silent. The voice, when he finally spoke, was a gravelly snarl not unlike Arrow's own.  
"What are you doing in Gotham?" he said.  
Under the circumstances, Oliver felt he could offer a suggestion that the guy go fuck himself. The other man appeared not to bat an eyelid - not that you could tell, with that high-tech mask.  
"Gotham is mine," he said. "I will deal with these smugglers. Go home to Star City, Queen."  
And that was the second bad decision, after coming to Gotham: choosing to escalate. 

He didn't really think it through, only heard the man use his name, and decided he had to make sure his secret was safe. So he put an arrow to his bow, only to see it go wide, and a moment later the other was on him, too close for another arrow. And that was when he discovered that he was probably outmatched.

He was trained by the best, and had made sure to keep training. Hell, he had been trained both by the League of Assassins and by Slade Wilson. This man, however, was something else - not just faster and stronger, but he didn't move like he'd been trained, he moved like fighting was what he was, as if his natural element was hand-to-hand. He flowed effortlessly through the motions, despite landing blows like mule kicks, and it dawned on Oliver that he was going to lose this fight, and lose it badly. And to make it worse, they were no longer alone. He was desperately dodging a kick that would have ended the fight for him when he heard them.

"That's a nice one, I think Arrow has some League training. Not going to help him here, though."  
"Tt. League training is the best there is, it's just that Father is better."  
"You keep telling yourself that, brat. Five dollars says he gets B with the exploding arrow."  
"Are you seriously expecting me to bet against B, Hood?"  
"Come on, Goldie, live a little! Five dollars on exploding arrow?"  
"OK, if you want to waste your money, you're on."

There was a moment of silence as Oliver landed in another brick wall. Gotham really had a statistically unlikely number of brick walls on its roofs. He reached for his quiver and desperately stuck the first arrow he could grab into the other man's leg.

"Look, that was the exploding arrow! You owe me five!"  
"It didn't explode, Hood."  
"Stay out of this, Red Robin - the bet didn't specify it had to explode. Cough up the cash, Goldie."

There was some grumbling and the sound of paper being withdrawn from a pocket. The man he was fighting stopped for a moment, pulled the arrow out of his leg, and stared down at Oliver, who hung onto the roof parapet and tried to figure out how to stand. Then the man spoke, but not to Oliver.

"Hood, don't bet on fights. It's tacky. Nightwing, Robin, go break up the smuggler ring we were here for. Red Robin, check in with Oracle on the weapons drop at the harbour. And Black Bat, if you'd assist Red Hood on another sweep through Bowery I would appreciate it."

The audience broke up with some giggling and a "Tacky, says the man who wears a fucking cape." Oliver looked up at the man he'd been fighting, who was cautiously holding out a hand.  
"Are you done?" he said. "Because we can keep this up, but I don't think you are in fighting shape anymore."  
Oliver thought an emphatic 'to hell with it,' grabbed the hand, and levered himself up.  
"I take it Batman is not a myth?" he said, carefully putting most of his weight on his so far un-kicked left leg.  
"Sure Batman is a myth!" hollered someone from the disappearing audience. "He just happens to be a true myth!"  
Batman looked surprisingly like he wanted to facepalm, but abstained so as not to ruin the mystique.  
"Thank you, Nightwing," he said. "Now, go home to Star City, Arrow. We protect Gotham, and we will deal with these smugglers."  
Oliver looked him over once more, then nodded and carefully turned to walk away as best he could. Then he stopped and turned. Batman was still there, watching him.  
"Look," Oliver said, "I've got a question. I was trained by the League. I've fought on the streets of Star City for years. I've never seen anyone fight like you. Where did you train?"  
Batman considered the question for a moment.  
"You're not asking where I trained,' he said finally. "You're asking why I am so much better than you."  
"Well, yes. I suppose I am."  
Batman made a brief movement that on someone else might have been a shrug.  
"It's simple, Queen. I don't kill, so I have to be better. Take your easy solutions and go home."  
  
He turned away and jumped off the roof, firing his grapple gun, and the last Oliver saw of him was the rain of glass from the shattered window he dove through, cape flaring out like wings behind him. Feeling a fleeting moment of pity for the smugglers who would have that landing in their midst, Oliver limped towards the fire escape, deciding that possibly he would be a little less than completely honest with his team about how this had gone.


End file.
